Page 35 of Taste Test

“I’ve been checking you out for so long I know your body off by heart.

The parts I’ve seen, anyway. I know the way the sweat spreads on your singlet after training, dark patches down your spine first, then under your arms. I know it darkens your shirt in that perfect V down your back.

I know the exact angle your leg hair curls when it’s humid, how it sticks in damp little spirals against your calves.

“I know you wear size 12 shoes because I’ve checked the labels.

I know the exact pattern your sock elastic leaves on your calves after rugby practice.

I know you have a small scar on your left shin that you probably don’t even remember getting.

I know how you lick your upper lip when you’re concentrating.

“I know your underwear preferences better than my own. You’ve got those faded Hanes briefs you never wear anymore, and those expensive Calvin Klein boxer briefs you save for dates.

You prefer darker colours, charcoal, navy, black.

Never white unless everything else is dirty.

I know because I’ve spent years catching glimpses of waistbands when you stretch, checking out the colour riding up above your jeans when you sit down.

I know from doing your washing, from seeing what goes in the laundry basket.

I’ve been paying attention to every detail for so fucking long. ”

But apparently twisted fantasies and stalker-level observations weren’t enough for me. I had to spill my deepest secrets too.

“Did you know I bought my own copy of your calendar? It’s in my bedside drawer, hidden under my socks so you won’t find it.

I look at it before bed. Sometimes...” My voice cracked.

“Sometimes I kiss it goodnight. Tragic, right? Me lying there with my dick in my hand, kissing glossy paper while I come, pretending you’re watching. ”

I pressed my forehead against his thigh, breathing hard, each word like pulling glass from my throat.

“Wanna know how fucked up I am? I used to have the hots for your dad. Your fucking dad, Jared. When I was fourteen, I stole his underwear from your laundry and kept them under my mattress for months. Used to jerk off with them pressed against my face, imagining what it would be like to crawl under his desk at work and suck him off during important lawyer meetings.”

I kissed along his hipbone, my hands trembling against his skin.

“And yes, I’ve sniffed yours too. I know I said I hadn’t but I lied.

I’ve sniffed them so many times I’ve lost count.

It’s hard to remember but I think you and Dave smell the same.

That would make sense. Sutherland men are so fucking hot.

Your dad’s still a fucking stud, even with the beer belly.

I’d probably still drop to my knees for him if he asked, even now.

But then you grew up and became this perfect fucking specimen and I. ..”

“Shut the fuck up and suck my dick!”

His hands grabbed the back of my head through the duvet. He yanked me forward and pushed me down. Suddenly his cock was in my mouth, forcing its way past my lips and crashing into the back of my throat.

“Aww, shit yeah!” Jared groaned in appreciation. “Rub my balls. Unggghh! Rub my balls, bro!”

“Gglllpp. Gglllpp. Gglllpp.”

I obeyed, massaging the heavy weight of them as he fucked my face like a hole in the dirt. His hips snapped forward again and again and again. There was no rhythm to speak of just brutal fuck-punches that made my eyes sting and spit leak from the corners of my mouth.

He kept going. Harder. Rougher.

The duvet pressed down on me like a collapsing tent, trapping the heat and the smell and the obscene sounds of him using my mouth.

“Gglllpp. Gglllpp. Gglllpp.”

“Ohhh yeah,” Jared moaned, breath catching. “You’re so fuckin’ good at this... unngghh... such a good little cocksucker.”

“Gglllpp. Gglllpp. Gglllpp.”

I couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. But I didn’t want to stop. I rubbed his balls harder, felt them tighten in my palm. His shaft pulsed with every thrust, tip smashing deep into my throat.

He grunted. Swore.

“I’m gonna bust,” he panted. “Bro, I’m gonna fucking shoot!”

Something primal took over. I’d been drinking his cum from a cup for over a week, but right now I wanted more. I wanted to be marked, claimed, covered in him like the desperate slut I felt like.

I pulled off his cock just as the first spasm hit, keeping my face close in the humid darkness under the blanket.

The thick jet painted a stripe across my cheek, then another across my nose and lips.

I opened my mouth, tongue out, catching what I could while the rest decorated my face in hot, sticky ropes.

More hit my forehead, dripping down onto my eyebrows.

I was a mess, a canvas for his release, and I’d never wanted anything more.

When he finally stopped pulsing, I was painted from hairline to chin, rivers of semen gliding down my face. I was still pent-up, rock-hard, lost in the haze of what we’d just done.

I slid the blanket back and emerged, presenting my cum-covered face to him. I looked at him through cum-heavy lashes, completely wrecked and not caring.

“It is an honour to wear your cum, Mr October,” I heard myself say.

The silence that followed lasted for a while, hovering on the edge of a blade.

“Well, well, well,” he eventually replied with a sleezy smile. “I think someone might have a bit of a crush on me.”

Those words annihilated my arousal in a way post-nut clarity never could. The spell shattered instantly. I wasn’t proving devotion to a potential lover, I had just outed myself as a cock-crazed psycho whore.

I scrambled off the bed so fast I nearly fell, grabbing my boxers from the floor.

“Casey...”

“I need a shower,” I said, not looking at him. “I need to... I’ll just...”

I bolted for the bathroom, slamming the door behind me and turning the lock. My hands were shaking as I turned on the taps, the rush of water covering the sound of my ragged breathing.

Fuck. Fuck. What did I just do?

I caught sight of myself in the mirror above the sink, hair messed up, lips still swollen, trickles of cum on my chin and neck, still warm from his balls. I looked exactly like what I was: someone who’d just debased themselves for their straight flatmate’s amusement.

I splashed cold water on my face, trying to wash away his seed and get my head straight.

This was what I’d been afraid of from the beginning, that living with him would lead me to confess long-suppressed feelings and embarrass myself all over again.

Sure, he’d gifted me more than a few taste tests this past week, but that didn’t make him want me any more than when we’d been sixteen.

I was still the joke I always knew I was .